


Witchy Woman

by FionaFoe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Smut, Witch!Reader, cursed john winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 16:59:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11878857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FionaFoe/pseuds/FionaFoe
Summary: John is cursed by a witch and has to race against time to seek help from the only person who can. Just too bad he should really be hunting her.





	Witchy Woman

He was going a million miles an hour. His black truck speeding through the equally black night like a monster on the prowl. The heavy rain hitting his windshield fell like bullets from the sky, but that wasn’t the only thing affecting his vision. Had Dean or Sam pulled a stunt like this he’d take away their newly acquired driving privileges, make Dean park his precious baby for a few weeks until he’d learned his lesson. Luckily they were safe, far from this forgotten highway in the middle of freaking nowhere. He just had to get there in time, before the curse worked its way through his entire system, taking his senses away from him.

That bitch, he should have gagged and bound her the moment i barged into the room, before she had the chance to curse him. She was dead now. He’d seen to that. He had no use for her stubborn ass the moment it was clear to him that she wouldn’t raise a finger to lift her curse. And with that he was forced to race against time, in order to find a witch powerful enough to undo this horror.

Hadn’t John been so pressed for time, he’d gone to Bobby or Jim, but they would have had to research the hell outa it, and he had no time for that now. No, his last hope for salvation was searching her out. 

He’d found her on a hunt a year earlier. His goal had of course been to end her, but that had all been put on hold when he’d suddenly found himself in desperate need of her help. Out of nowhere he’d been attacked by a werewolf. He’d been hurt, badly, but killed the bastard in the end. And when he’d shown up at her doorstep she’d exchanged healing him in return for her life.

And now he needed her help again. He knew it would come at a price, he wasn’t stupid. Witches always had a knack for protecting their own self interest, in his opinion. And this one was no different. She wasn’t all bad though, that had been one of the reasons he’d held up his part of the bargain all those months ago. She was a healer and clairvoyant as well as a drabbler of the black arts. She posed no immediate threat to the world and kept mostly to herself in her cabin, deep in the woods of West Virginia.

He’d pulled off the highway and taken off into the woods, the dirt road soaked with rain making a mess of the black finish of his truck. He sped through the woods, at the speed he was going it was a damn miracle he didn’t end up with a huge fir tree through his windshield. And he made it in the knick of time, black spots spreading on his retina, the expected smell of damp forest floor absent as he rushed out of his car, his mouth turned to ash, his skin not feeling the wet, cold drops hitting his face. 

Her door flew open and he barely saw her appear before him. All he could make out was the color of her hair and her form.

“Not this bullshit again!” She yelled, but to him it was more like a distant whisper of a forgotten world.

“I need your help,” John groaned, “I’m cursed! I’m losing my senses...”

“And what are you prepared to give me in return?” Her singsong voice had grown ever more distant.

“Anything…” He panted, before the world collapsed around him and he felt himself get trapped inside his own dark mind. 

 

***

 

John Winchester. At your door, just a year after you’d helped him out of his last mess. You’d given little thought to the hunter over the past year. Yet, to say the appearance of John Winchester at you door had been a surprise would only be a half truth. You’d known something was up. Only a short hour before you heard the low rumbling of his truck making its way through the woods, you’d been laying an easy three card tarot spread, looking for answers. You’d been feeling lonely, if you were perfectly honest, the reasons for you to seek solitude starting to grow distant in a way. 

It made so much sense. Your past, indicated by your first card, represented by the hermit. And you understood perfectly well, you’d chosen to be alone to harness your powers, find a deeper meaning to your magic. It had been what you needed at the time, but it was at the same time the root of your feeling of isolation and emptiness. And this feeling was of course present in your second card, representing your current situation. The star, reversed, meaning a feeling of being uninspired or disengaged. You had no doubt come to question your own beliefs, what you had always meant it was to be a witch. You’d always worked hard to balance the evil with the good. You’d done some things most people wouldn’t, and very few could, things that were definitely considered evil or dark. But then you’d also healed, read fortunes and delved into teachings of the elements, trying to restore natural order. Now, your past wrongs sometimes haunted you. And you were no longer sure your good deeds cancelled them out.

The future resolution, found in the third and last card of your spread, had been unexpected however. Judgement. Someone from your past who had disappeared from your life was coming back.

When he’d arrived you had barged out, hex bag in hand, ready to throw at whoever it was who had intruded on your property. When you’d realized who it was, you thought he was out to kill you again. However, as he stumbled a few steps further you realized he posed no threat to you. He was pale and fumbling, looking as if he was already at death’s door without your help. He claimed to be cursed and you had no doubt in your mind that he was right. And he was willing to do anything in return for your help.

You had to think fast. You could let him die. It would be easy, he had no way of resisting you, no chance of fighting you off. But then there were your cards… He was the solution. He was the past coming back to help you out of your identity crisis.

Hex or spell? You searched him where he lay motionless, every pocket and in is boots. No bag there. Then his truck, but still nothing. So, spell. You rushed back inside. What did you need to do to lift this? He said he was losing his senses. This witch he’d pissed off wasn’t playing around. You needed cut agrimony for reversing spells, barberry root for healing, maybe a hint of blessed thistle for good measure. You had to wing it. No time for proper research. You crushed it all together in a mortar, and scooped it all up in a jar, careful not to drop a single ounce of the powder. Once you were back at his side you knelt down and gently parted his lips. You poured the powder into his mouth and closed it. 

You held your breath. Hoping against hope that you’d managed to help in time.

A full minute passed, and then finally he opened his hazel eyes, staring straight into yours. Relief washed over you. 

“Welcome back, Winchester.” You tried your best to sound like your own sly self. 

“Thanks,” he croaked, “got anything to drink? I feel like I swallowed a tumble weed.”

You helped him stand up, his legs still shaky.

“Water? Or perhaps something stronger?”

“How ‘bout both?” He smiled, his lips curling up in the most charming way you’d ever seen.

“Sure thing,” you chuckled, “but then you gotta tell me about this witch you pissed off. Deal?”

“Deal,” he said.

You got him safely inside and down on your burgundy velvet couch. You helped him out of his leather jacket, leaving him in a tight black t-shirt. Looking him over you realized he was even handsomer than you’d recalled. Your cards hadn’t filled you out at this little piece of information. It could no doubt mean trouble. As he leaned back on the couch, you saw he winced, his chiseled jaw clenching in instant pain. Not good.

“Something wrong?” You asked.

“Something is stinging my back,” he responded through gritted teeth. “Take a look?”

He turned his back a little towards you and you sat down next to him. He lifted the back of his shirt and you say what looked like flaming red veins across his left shoulder blade. Reaching out, you let your fingers softly graze his skin, it was hot to the touch. 

“I think it’s just the after effects of the curse working its way out of your system,” you stood back up, trying not to stare too longingly at his broad, muscular back. “You should be fine, but you should definitely stay the night. Besides that gives us plenty time to talk about how you’re gonna repay me.” You smirked down at him.

“Fine,” he chuckled, the low timbre of his voice rippling through the air, “but do me a favor and get me a drink before you tell me how you’re gonna bleed me dry, huh?”

***

You’d done as he asked. You’d given him a drink, in fact you’d given him three. He was not unphased by the events which had just unfolded. He had almost died for crying out loud, and more than that he had had to come to you, a witch, for help. You almost shivered when you thought of what the community would say if they ever found out. You weren’t particularly involved, and had no connection to a coven, but you still needed a little lifeline. Now, you might be a hermit by choice, but you didn’t need to be flat out shunned by the community.

Another drink might help keep your mind from spinning these immersive thoughts you pondered and poured whiskey for the both of you before you leaned back on your velvet couch, John reclining next to you. 

“So what do you want in return?” John asked, his hazel eyes narrowing in on you, still a slight smirk on his lips.

You racked your brain. Sitting beside you was one of the most legendary hunters in the country and he owed you a favor. You had to use this opportunity right, there was no chance in hell you’d get this chance again. It was too bad he couldn’t guarantee your safety on the hand of others like him, but at least you could make him give an oath not to come after you again. He also had the opportunity to get you ingredients you couldn’t come by too easily on your own; werewolf hair, blood of a priest, the nail of a vampire, that sorta thing.

“I want you to swear you won’t come after me again…” You said, before you took a good swig of your whiskey, it’s heat burning its way down your throat.

“When I walk out that door you’ll never see me again.” He nodded in acceptance as he said it, but that was not at all what you wanted. 

“No, that’s not all,” you crossed your arms across your chest, “you’re gonna supply me with ingredients as well.”

“What now?” A look of profound confusion shot across his handsome features.

“When you hunt and come across something I might want, you bring it to me,” you stated matter of factly. 

“This just a ploy to keep me coming back here?” He mocked, his eyes twinkling devilishly in the dim light of your sitting room. Damn that charm, you could feel your face flush, hoping the whiskey had a little something to do with it.

“Dream on, Winchester,” you tried to keep a straight face, but couldn’t help a playful smirk from hitting your lips, “don’t flatter yourself.”

John chuckled at your response. Damn that chuckle, that deep rumble in his firm chest sending shivers down your spine. You had to admit, you had no problem with him coming back as a friend instead of a foe. Your lonesome existence could use some tall, dark and handsome man to break it up. To offer a little love and care… and lust and excitement. Your mind wandered and you had to uncross your legs as not to add involuntary friction between them. You were growing flustered, and it was all because of him. Maybe he could flatter himself a little...

John continued to drink his whiskey, and you went on toying with the idea of offering him more than your couch for the night. It had been so long since you had a man to share a bed and some intimacy with. And what was really the worst thing that could happen?

“So then, how’s this couch to sleep on?” He snickered at you.

“Just terrible,” you teased, “so you really should jump in bed with me instead.”

He hummed at your proposition, making you blush at your own promiscuity. He sunk his dark hazel eyes in you before he opened his mouth to speak.

“You tryin’ to bed me, witch?” His voice was low and raspy, sending shivers down your spine and goosebumps all down the back of your thighs. Hell yeah, you were definitely trying to bed him. Those broad shoulders and big, rough hands made your mind go to places darker than your blackest magic.

“Gotta make sure those senses are all up and runnin’ again, don’t we?” You winked at him, and John licked his bottom lip. Seemed you were getting to him and you hadn’t had to use any other spell than the one of your own sexuality. 

“Well, I can’t argue with that logic,” he growled, furthering the soaking of your panties that was already underway. The rumble of his deep voice was just so sexy! It was as if the vibrations shot right through the foot or so of space between your bodies and right into your core. Now it was definitely you who were under his spell…

You just couldn’t help it, you grabbed hold of the collar of his shirt and pulled him to you, your lips crashing into his. You felt the sweet burn of his beard against the soft skin of your chin and upper lip, as well as the burn of the whiskey you’d both been drinking only a minute before. You kissed him as though you needed to possess him and he mirrored your intensity. Greed, hunger and urgency; it was all right there in his kiss. 

Lips locked, he pushed your body all the way down on the sofa, leaving him on top of you, his hands reaching for the hem of your shirt and pulling it up above your breasts. You heard him growl, the sound more animal than human, as he noticed you hadn’t been wearing a bra. How he’d missed out in that fact seeming as your nipples had been rock hard for a good while, you couldn’t imagine, but never the less he seemed hot and bothered by this discovery and you could feel the evidence pressing against your thigh. And the thing pressing against you wasn’t exactly on the small side either. Now there was something that could get a girl’s mouth watering.

Placing his big, strong hands at your sides, he kissed you even deeper, spreading his fingers and lining his thumb and pointer around the curve of your breasts. The hold he had on you in that moment was spurring your arousal further on, as if he was claiming you with his touch, making you succumb to his will. He held you for a few moments before he finally cupped your breasts properly, feeling their softness in his calloused hands. Finding your pebbled nipples with his fingers, he tweaked them teasingly, sending pleasure pain right through you.

“You taste and feel fuckin’ amazing,” he mumbled into your lips.

“So that’s two senses up and running, huh?” You smirked against him.

“Well, you smell like sweet cinnamon and whiskey, so that makes it three,” he hummed before fully releasing your lips from his kiss. “Now, let’s see how much strain I can put on your senses…”

He shot you a near devilish look before he reached a hand down between your bodies and slipped it under the waistband of your pants and panties. You gasped as a long, calloused finger found its way between the soft lips of your sex and found that most pleasurable of buttons. You had to bite down on your bottom lip as he massaged it gently, definitely sending your senses into high gear. You breath hitched in your throat as he sped up, making you squeeze your eyes shut, as to focus more deeply on the pleasure he was giving you.

“How that feel?” His hoarse voice growled in your ear and all you could do in response was nod and moan his name.

He kept it up, playing you like a fucking instrument, making you pant and moan and grab for his wrist, but John merely pushed your hand away with his free one and applied more pressure, making it almost too much to bear. You could take it no longer as he pushed a finger into your soaking hole, teasing at your walls and g-spot as well as your clit and you felt yourself come undone on his hand. You pulled at your hair as you came with a profane scream and quite a few curse words. You saw stars, constellations and galaxies behind your tightly shut eyes and John groaned in your ear. Fuck he was good…

You danced with your pleasure, letting it properly waltz through you before you came back down. You knew you needed more. Now!

“Bed?” You panted, ready to rid yourself of your clothing, as well as him of his, and finally feel his naked form flush against yours. 

“Bed.” He nodded, his eyes dark and hooded from raw, undeniable want.

***

Bedding the enemy, it had a nice, exciting ring to it. 

John was tall and broad against you, and as he got up from the sofa, he pulled you up with him and met you in a saultry kiss. In between kisses you fumbled your way over to the bed together, dropping your clothes like a trail of breadcrumbs as you went, because who knew whether you'd ever make it back from this. You were about to take the plunge with a hunter, and a damn legend at that! 

You let your hands confidently travel his broad back; he was burly, all man, and the sensitive tips of your fingers felt every bump and scar they came across with such caution and care you were sure you’d forever be able to recollect the exact dimensions of his physique. Good, you thought, you wanted to remember this strange, coincidence of a night forever.

You finally lay down together on the soft, silky sheets of your bed, furthering the exploration of each other’s bodies. He seemed just as eager as you to imprint the moment in his mind, his hands being just as needy and insistent in their petting as yours. He made sure to take his time feeling all of you out, canvassing you thighs and hips before moving up to your waist and breasts, again giving them all the attention they deserved. Your skin broke out in goose bumps under his touch, the exhilaration of being touched like this after so long making you feel everything so much stronger. He was indeed putting some strain on your senses, and you loved it!

You reached down his prominent chest, riddled with salt and pepper hair, fingertips tracing along the soft line of curls leading you to your prize. Already standing proud for you, you let your fingers flex around his big cock, feeling the silky skin around in your hand, letting your thumb brush over throbbing veins and the string at the base of its head. He groaned in your ear, making the goosebumps dance down your delicate neck. Yep, nothing wrong with your sense of feel at all.

You pumped John’s cock in your hand, and were rewarded with love bites down the base of your neck. Heavy, synchronized breathing filled the room, the two of you connecting to each other like the stars lining up to form a constellation; when you were both in place, universal, celestial powers aligned to lend you their magic. 

Locked in your carnal dance, you spread your legs wider for him and eased his cock towards your entrance without a word, and he followed your lead, sinking his cock into you on exhale, making you melt all the way into each other. 

Being deep inside of you, his thick cock filling you up right to the brim, he started moving to the beat of your breathing. Slow and tantalizing, he rocked against you, hitting you with hard despite the almost excruciatingly slow pace. He dragged against your insides, brushing the sweet spots inside of you everytime, it not being quite enough to make you rush into an orgasm. He wanted to make you wait, wanted to build it up in you, knowing full well that would make you come the hardest when he finally would decide to give it to you.

Little by little, he picked the pace up, with you begging and pleading for him to stop teasing you and fuck you hard and fast into the mattress. He chuckled and grinned devilishly down at you, groaning in you ear to be patient, to wait for it, to trust him to know what he was doing. And you could tell he knew his way around a woman, he knew full well the kind of pressure he was building up inside of you, no question about it. His sexy torment had you desperate under his spell, needy, like a puppy not getting the treat it craved. 

“Please, John,” you whined in between low moans, “let me come…”

“You sure you want it?” He teased, “Sure you’re ready?”

“Yes,” you almost screamed out, “I need it, John!”

He hummed at your uncontrollable need and lust, and bit down on your ear, “If you’re sure you can handle it, witch.”

He picked it up, his speed becoming unrelenting and primal in the span of just a few seconds. You screamed out in pleasure under him, cocking your hips up in response to the way he slammed into you. You bucked up and down with him, making the head of his magnificent cock pound your g-spot over and over, making the orgasm John had built up in you threaten to burst. 

You felt your mind nearly melt away as you focused on the pleasure, letting yourself transcende from this world to a heightened state of sensory awareness. You were one with the pleasure, one with him, one with the universe. And when it finally all broke down in a rush of stars and heady pleasure, John was right there with you, coming as if on cue. You collapsed into each other, your contractions milking him, making his hot spendings dance along your walls. And as the climax had ridden through you, you lay together, sweaty and spent still breathing in sync.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my tumblr @winchesterswoonathon as a drabble series.


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